


Carolyn's Mask

by Gylfie



Series: The Arthur Shappey Diary [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: gylfie, natasha body, polar bear - Freeform, tashiipear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gylfie/pseuds/Gylfie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The loss of a child can not be described in words, but when you are constantly reminded of your son, the wounds never heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carolyn's Mask

The two weeks following Arthur’s death consisted of medical checks, a funeral, and the clearing of Arthur’s possessions. The three months after that were consumed by work – flights guaranteed weekly, a new job as a tour guide, bank balances and greasy office-workers. Carolyn – strong, brave Carolyn – had become a zombie.

Even the two men working for her – Captain Martin Crieff and First Officer Douglas Richardson – had become immune to the emotions they felt towards the death of their dear friend. They were stone now, quiet and angry. The friendly banter that the cabin was so accustomed to housing had not been heard for days.

It was not uncommon to see the remaining three members of MJN Air walking towards their plane on a foggy Fitton morning, their silhouettes warping in the early light. It had become a game for the Fitton air control officers, bringing in their children to watch as the crew emerged from the mist. If the kids refused to go to bed, the officers now had a better scare tactic than the boogeyman. 

\--

Four months after Arthur’s death, Douglas began humming again. 

It was a small noise that seemed to fill the entirety of the plane. He stopped abruptly. He had started humming subconsciously, remembering the catchy jingle of an advertisement he had seen last night on the television. It felt good to stretch his vocal chords. He had done little more than give commands since the funeral.

Douglas tried humming again and relished the burbling in his throat. He smiled. He looked over to Martin and stopped.

Martin looked offended. He looked disgusted, as if Douglas had just shared his joy for eating babies. He managed to look like he wanted to vomit on Douglas, punch Douglas, scream at Douglas, all at the same time. It was a miracle, Douglas thought, that Martin’s head didn’t turn purple and drop off.

He smiled again.

It felt as though a million slimy birds had just fluttered out of his chest. He felt lighter and content. The burden of Arthur’s death had left him. Not completely – no, he would never forget Arthur, who was like a son to him – but enough to let him smile every once in a while. It was enough to pass him over until Martin returned to his former self.

\--

They were stuck in Moscow, ten months after Arthur’s death.

When that weight left Martin, he was surprised. He hadn’t realized he was feeling such strong remorse. He had been completely focused on the job, nothing more. Had it not always been that way?

Martin smiled. He remembered Arthur’s face, and he smiled. It was a proper, genuine smile – something Arthur would have praised or jumped excitedly at. He ran a hand through his short brown hair and sighed in relief. It felt good.

Douglas, from the bed across the room, noticed the look.

They laughed together and climbed under their designated sheets, sleeping warmly in the freezing temperatures.

\--

Eleven months after Arthur’s death, Carolyn still remained frosty. She worked continuously, and never without a fierce scowl upon her face. Very often, she became so close to tears that she needed to punch something – usually a wall. 

Her job as a tour guide blossomed. People came specifically to her when they visited Fitton. She became known as “The White Witch”. Her bad attitude and nasty comments about the Fitton residents became so popular that she was able to start paying Martin, though she didn’t necessarily like doing it. She remained as the MJN air CEO simply for the sentimental value.

The tour bus Carolyn worked on had been dubbed King Arthur. When Carolyn gave her tours, she would tack a picture of her son to the steering wheel, and hope no one asked her who it was.

\--

One year and one month after Arthur’s death, Carolyn found the birthday card. It was baby blue with a chubby polar bear smiling out from it. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” was printed across the bottom in big pink letters. When she opened it, she noted the small white tab on the crease; once upon a time, she would hear Arthur singing his song about polar bears, but the short recorded message had long since stopped working. 

“Dear Mum,” it read. “Happy birthday! I hope you get lots and lots of presents. I could only make you this bracelet, but I hope you like it. I love you, Mum! Love from Arthur! xx” 

Carolyn tucked it into her bra and put her hand over her breast. She started crying quietly.

\--

Exactly two years after Arthur’s death, on the anniversary, Carolyn hid herself in the plane’s bathroom and wept. She clutched the fading birthday card in her fingers and released all the tears she had been hiding from her crew and the airport staff. 

Had it not been for the monumental client they were flying, Carolyn would have taken the day off. She would have curled up in her favourite armchair, stoked the fire, and cried loudly and without fear. She was all alone in her huge house. No more Arthur and no more Snoopadoop, who had died two months earlier. She could feel every sliver of sanity falling away. 

If she were lucky, Carolyn would be able to stay in the bathroom and cry until there was nothing left. She would wipe her face, fix her make-up, and return to the flight deck to scold the boys.

She wasn’t so lucky.

“Carolyn, are you in there?” It was Martin, and he sounded worried. There was a gentle knock at the door.

Carolyn held her breath and counted to ten. “Yes, what do you want?”

There was a beat of silence, and then Martin spoke again. “Are you alright? I thought I should come and check on you.”

“Go away, Martin. Now is not the time to be singing songs around the campfire.”

There was another pause. Carolyn wondered briefly if Martin had left, but the heavy tension – almost tangible in a way – told her that he had not. He cleared his throat, a surefire way that he was about to start a speech. She threw open the bathroom door, intending on telling him off, but something stopped her.

She had dropped the card in the toilet. Her red-rimmed eyes watched as the polar bear fluttered to the bottom of the bowl and landed in the small amount of water. The blue cardboard visibly softened. There was a noise that sounded like a hiccup (either from Carolyn or the small recording device, it is unclear) and then it fell apart. The smiling polar bear quickly turned to resemble a spitball.

\--

Martin canceled the flight. Douglas agreed to it immediately. Despite Carolyn’s arguments, the two men refused to fly the plane. Carolyn would threaten to fire them both, to find new pilots who would work for free, but they all knew Martin was the only person who would ever consider doing that. No one else had that dedication.

The three MJN members left the plane, told their highly esteemed guest to find someone else, and made their way to the Fitton airport cafeteria. 

\--

The bracelet Arthur made her would remain firmly around her wrist. It was made from twine with three small seashells dangling from it, and a large red wooden bead. Despite telling her two remaining men that she was fine, Carolyn would look at it and feel sad again.

Nothing would bring her away from the precipice she was currently standing at. Not all the money in the world would make her feel better. She was going to drive a tour bus and manage an airdot for the rest of her life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part two. It's not very thorough and, personally, I don't enjoy reading it, but I do love writing angst for Carolyn. She doesn't get enough stories written about her, in my personal opinion... or perhaps I don't read enough.
> 
> I haven't written part three yet. Started, but not finished.
> 
> "Carolyn's Mask" is a horribly bland title. I was going to go with "Mask Of Stone", but that sounded tacky. I don't know.


End file.
